


The Mirror is a Trigger

by Sara_Ellison



Category: Sherlock Holmes - fandom
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 12:25:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sara_Ellison/pseuds/Sara_Ellison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes has a plan to get Watson to loosen up a little</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mirror is a Trigger

It was chance or Providence that caused me to meet my good friend in the high street of the City on the Hill. He was dressed plainly--that is to say, as himself, which is not as common as one would think for him. He handed me a frame of the sort ordinarily used to display a photograph or painting, and without so much as a greeting or comment on the weather (raining, as always in that city) bid me examine it.

"Is this some sort of joke?" I demanded after no more than a cursory glance. If it was a joke, it was in poor taste indeed. The frame held behind glass a drawing, coloured in pastels, of the lewdest sort. I shall not describe it here, though the image of it lingers far too vividly in my mind. I thrust it back at him. "What can be your meaning in showing me this?"

He grinned at me, his eyes sparkling in that singular fashion which meant he surely had some new mystery to occupy his energies. "A-ha!" he cried. "I thought as much! Have you ever seen such a look as this--" and here he tapped the drawing, indicating its subject-- "upon a face of man?"

"I have not," I replied stiffly.

"Then I gather you do not own a wall-mirror?"

"Your reasoning is, as always, beyond me, and yet you speak the truth. But what, pray tell, has that to do with _this_ ," here indicating the picture, "and what, if I may be so bold, is the nature of your current case?"

"You," he said. "You, my dear Watson, are my case."

I was so taken aback by this odd statement that I did not protest as he took me by the elbow and led me along the high street to a shop which I had often made note of as I passed, but never before entered. Now, as my friend ushered me inside, bells jangled to announce our entrance.

"Ooh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes! How good to see you!" A portly, elderly woman bustled into sight, clad in a most curious costume. Her silver hair was plaited with glass beads, and her dress was clearly Indian in origin although her skin and voice identified her as a white Englishwoman.

"Madame Priya," he greeted her, taking her hand and kissing it. "My friend Dr. Watson is in need of a mirror. I trust you will be able to assist?"

"Of course, of course!" she cried. "Right this way, sir!" She beckoned to me and disappeared toward the rear of the shop.

I turned, bemused, to my friend. He merely smiled at me. "I shall await you in my rooms at Baker Street," he told me, and took his leave.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a dream I had a long time ago, before the song from which the title is borrowed came out. The abrupt, unsatisfying ending is due to it having been a dream and that's when I woke up. The City in which they find themselves is one in which my dreams sometimes take place, but I don't think it exists anywhere on Earth (although here it seems to be in Victorian England). Also, I picture Jude Law as Watson but Holmes is someone else, taller and thinner than RDJ; your mileage, of course, may vary.


End file.
